


Death, Dearth and Dissolutions.

by Ultronerd



Category: BBC Sherlock, MorMor - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Magnussen - Freeform, Mild Language, Post-His Last Vow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4337780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultronerd/pseuds/Ultronerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian has been searching for Jim ever since he broadcasted his taunt, however has been unsuccessful. He doesn't know where else to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StartingWithTheRidingCrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StartingWithTheRidingCrop/gifts).



"Where are you, Boss?"  
  
It was raining. Hard. It was one of those days which usually only existed in the movies or a poem; thin shots of water zipping down from the sky in tight formation, and fat globs of it tumbling from trees onto suspecting umbrellas and hoods. Everything shone in the rain: leaves, cement, mud, wood, stone. Water created reflective surfaces for children to look into before they splash into a puddle and receive a thorough chiding from their parents. Then dogs would run through the same puddles and their owners would laugh it off. It was odd, how people treated dogs and humans differently. A speculation Seb had made often.  
  
Alas, today was not 'often'. Today was not a typical day. He would have no part in people-watching today. Today, Sebastian sat on the grass, with no umbrella to shield him from the harassment of the rain, and no coat to protect him from the bite of the wind. No, Seb sat in dark denim jeans and a tan shirt, which was now much darker due to the water and clung to his toned chest.  
  
Opposite him was a headstone. It was black, but if you looked hard enough and at the right angle, you could see chips of precious diamond which sparkled among the blackness. It resembled the night sky, and that was why Jim had chosen it. Was it morbid, that Jim had chosen his own headstone? Probably. The mass of rock which marked a secret grave without a body had no name, no writing, no engravings, no nothing. It was just a smooth, arched rock which stood a little above three feet. There were snowdrops beginning to grow at the base. Seb suspected they wouldn't last for very long. The weather hadn't been right for it recently.  
He continued to stare at the headstone, his expression as blank as the smooth surface. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine Jim's eyes staring back at him and sucking him into their manic void.  
  
Seb sighed.  
  
"I've tried everything." He continued, after allowing rain to plummet onto his head and soak his hair to the scalp. "I've looked for you everywhere. I've looked for clues, but everything leads into nothing." Seb ran a hand through his hair, flicking miniature droplets into the air as he did. He then ran a palm over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, speaking with his eyes concealed in his hand. "I've done everything you asked me to do, and yet you're still hiding from me? Jim, throw me some fucking rope here." Seb's voice was exhausted as opposed to angry. His hand slid down to his mouth, then his knuckles formed a surface for his chin to rest on. Despite his extreme stubbornness, Sebastian knew that he missed his boss immensely, and that it was the reason for his exhaustion. He missed the little Irishman's expression when he thought of something particularly devious, and his voice when he told Sebastian that he had done exceptionally well. He missed the consulting criminal's ruffled hair in the mornings, and his sleepy voice at night.  
  
Since Jim had left, Sebastian had been expected to run his criminal empire. Of course, he had followed the specific instructions of his boss, and set Magnussen into motion, and placed Mary Morstan in convenient proximity to John Watson. The only flaw in their plan was their expectation of Sherlock; they had believed him to be rational, though the detective had proven that he was more changeable than he would like to believe when he put a bullet in one of their most skilled clients. This had forced their plans to progress quicker than intended, which was undesirable and more than a little hectic, but had been manageable so far. Not much had been put into motion prematurely, excepting the little message from Seb's boss broadcasted to the country. Nevertheless, Holmes and his friends had been undoubtedly affected, and thus the plan to pick them apart piece by piece had begun, starting with Morstan's true identity. Her traitorous streak would be revealed soon enough, but in the meantime, Sebastian had to find his boss. It was all well and good broadcasting his message to unsettle the country (and even the world), but now Sebastian had the task of finding the bastard.  
  
"Jim." Sebastian heard his voice soften, so it was barely audible above the rain smattering the ground and the wind rustling the leaves. "Jim, would you please just... Make this part easy. Give me a clue, anything... Give me a mission. I..." Seb stopped himself. Jim hated it when he was sentimental; it was only allowed when they were tired and cuddled up together, or when they were drunk. The only other exception was the morning before Jim "died"; they had exchanged loving touches and words, knowing that they would not see each other for a long while, and that one (or both) could end up dead.  
  
Seb was yanked from his thoughts when he felt something pressed to his head. He could identify the object immediately; it was the barrel of a gun, specifically an M1911 pistol. He froze, but felt a small smile creeping up his lips. The amount of times Jim had crept up on him with a gun and whispered 'dead' was unbelievable - it was a game they played, who could 'kill' the other more times, though Seb would never tell that he was winning. Jim wouldn't listen anyway. A short, breath of a laugh left the sniper and he shook his head slightly.  
  
"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, colonel Moran."  
  
The smile dropped from his face at the unfamiliar voice and Seb's blue eyes shot up to the gravestone. In it, he saw a silhouette in the reflection, though it wasn't Jim's. He saw other people, too, recognising one of them as the (in)famous Sherlock Holmes. The shorter man beside the detective was no doubt Doctor Watson.  
The pistol was cocked against Seb's head, and the holder of the weapon spoke in a calm and collected voice, though the sound of said voice was rough and low. "Colonel Moran, there are various snipers locked onto your location and they will shoot if you attack. I want you to turn around with your arms behind your back. You go for a weapon, we go for ours."  
Sebastian swallowed hard, not from fear but from annoyance, and slowly turned on his knees, pushing his arms behind his back. He wasn't planning on dying today, and so remained completely still. He was outnumbered and had no specialist equipment with him, so it would be foolish to fight. Besides, it could be fun to try and corrupt them from the inside.  
  
"Colonel Moran, I am arresting you under suspected serial murder of multiple persons and involvement with the criminal mastermind James Moriarty in addition to hiring and being hired for criminal activity."  
  
Sebastian wasn't paying attention to the routine drivel being spoken to him by the detective inspector, though he did register the cool touch of metal on his wrists as he was cuffed. He was staring at Sherlock Holmes, who was now accompanied by a slightly pudgier, snootier and ginger version of the detective. His sharp features and calculating eyes meant he must have been the (also infamous) Mycroft Holmes. When the sniper met the politician's eyes, a taunting smirk darted onto Mycroft's lips, and something clicked in Seb's brain which made everything fall into place and undiluted fury build up in his chest.  
They hadn't been forced into premature action at all. It was him... Mycroft had broadcasted the message, not Jim. It was all a scheme, to lure Sebastian out of his hiding. They had counted on his loyalty, his _sentiment_ for Jim to expose him, and... It had worked.  
  
Sebastian's eyes darkened in anger, and as he was escorted to the back of a police van, he maintained unblinking eye contact with the eldest Holmes. Mycroft's expression faltered as he registered the livid determination of the man who served as second in command in Moriarty's empire; he did not doubt Moran's capability to follow through, and it worried him. What concerned him more was the lack of response in Moran, both physical and verbal. It almost reminded him of... Well, of the calm before the storm.  
  
Yes. Sebastian would give them a storm. He would give them a hurricane that they would never anticipate, and thus be unprepared for and never heal from. He would make Jim proud, and when the damage had been done, his boss would applaud him and they would once again spread darkness over their enemies' lives as if nothing had changed.  
  
Certain that his boss was watching, Seb glanced out of the window of the police car and caught sight of a security camera fixed solely on him. He looked right into the lens and smiled wolfishly. _Yes, Jim. I'll rip them to pieces._  
  
In the back of his mind, a soft Irish lilt sing-songed in his ear; it was so real that Sebastian could feel the breath against his skin. _Make them pay, Sebbie,_ it said. _Tear them apart. That's it, Tiger. Destroy them. Make Daddy proud._


	2. The Employment of a Sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's "did you miss me?" was a hoax. Now, Mycroft has Sebastian Moran in his custody and wants him to work for him.

When Sebastian was bundled into the back of a police car, he was silent. He couldn’t hear what the drivers were discussing, but he assumed it was unimportant drivel – just in case Sebastian had super sonic hearing.  
  
He felt numb. He felt like an idiot. He had truly believed that Jim was there, behind him, playing one of their silly games. He expected to hear that Irish lilt scolding him for being sentimental, chiding him for not winning the game. It was dumb to think that, Sebastian knew, but he wouldn’t dwell on his idiocy now. It would do him no use. Those thoughts would come to haunt him in the darkness of sleep, taunting and teasing him until he awoke in a cold sweat as he had done for many months since Jim had left.  
  
The van was too warm. Obviously there weren’t any windows. It would be too risky with Sebastian in the back; he wasn’t afraid of jumping out of a moving vehicle, and he could easily smash a window with a head-butt or a fist.  
  
Everything was grey: grey walls, grey floor, grey ceiling. So unassuming and so _boring._ Sebastian liked having things to look at; visual stimulus was such a massive part of his job that it had become a hobby to him, almost a necessity. There was nothing to look at, except the dark, raised crosses on the floor. They were there to provide grip, often found in industrial buildings.  
  
If he thought about it, he could feel his arms starting to ache from being cuffed behind him. He didn’t bother to try and break free; it would cause more trouble than good. There wasn’t much point in getting away anymore.  
  
It didn’t feel like winning anymore. Getting a one up on the Holmes brothers used to end in celebrations. Jim would crack open a vintage red wine and they’d share it over a dinner Sebastian had cooked. Those were the times when Jim was the realest; his mastermind façade would cease and he would simply be happy and proud of himself, like a child who had won first prize for a science project. Sebastian would be proud of him too. It was so much better than when a plan failed and Jim’s head started eating away at him, but Sebastian didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts. Instead, he rested his head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, letting sentiment occupy his mind for the rest of the journey.  
  


-

Sebastian wasn’t sure what he expected when Mycroft Holmes escorted him into an unassuming, grey building. He was getting bored of grey. Best-case scenario? A cell or a padded room of some sort. Worst-case scenario? A noose hanging from the ceiling or an electric chair. He didn’t know – or particularly care - what awaited him. But when the door opened, he couldn’t help but express some polite confusion.

“What the fuck is this?”

It was the first time Sebastian had spoken since he’d been put into the back of a police truck. He thought he’d be tortured or killed or both; he hadn’t anticipated being released from his cuffs and introduced to a lavishly decorated room complete with a four-poster bed and a mini library.  
  
“This is your room.” Said the politician.

God, his voice was _so_ boring.

Sebastian eyed Mycroft suspiciously. He barely looked at the room that was decorated like some royal palace, accented with red and gold touches. He didn’t care for the décor; it was nothing compared to Jim’s opulent taste.

“Why?” He asked, his blue eyes never leaving the eldest Holmes, no matter how disgusting he was to look at.

Mycroft smirked and replied, “trying to read me, Colonel?” He sounded amused. It made Sebastian’s blood boil. “Humour me, won’t you?”

Biting his tongue, the sniper made no immediate comment. Instead, he walked further into the room and eyed the furnishings more closely. He touched the duvet on the bed with calloused fingers. It was soft. Not nearly as soft as Jim’s, mind you, but soft enough.  
  
“You’re trying to persuade me. Lure me into a false sense of comfort.” Sebastian deduced slowly, though with extreme confidence. “I would suspect you don’t want to kill me. You wouldn’t pamper me if you wanted to kill me, you’d get it over with. You want me for something... Or maybe you need me for something.”

“And why do you think that?”

Sebastian looked at Mycroft again - dead in the eye - then grinned a twisted smile. He declined to answer directly, instead saying, “you claim to be so different to the rest of the world, though that’s hardly the case when you all think exactly the fucking same.” He walked closer to the politician; they were roughly the same height, though he suspected Mycroft was a few centimetres taller than him. Yet Sebastian remained imposing. He was far superior in the act of physically threatening someone. “You forget I lived with Jim in my life for years. Believe me when I say you’re _all_ the _fucking_ same. You need someone to do the work you don’t want to do and you need to trust that they’ll do it well. Not to mention I know things that are extremely valuable to your quest in destroying criminals. I suspect you’ll threaten to kill me if I don't obey you, but you forget I’m not like the rest. I’m not a mindless dog like that Watson your brother runs after; I’m not some idiotic DI that seeks approval from anyone and everyone to mask the fact that he's absolutely fucking useless at his job.” Sebastian stopped, jerking his head to the side to crack his neck. His anger subsided. He pursed his lips and stepped away.

Sebastian had to admit, Mycroft had excellent composure. However, he caught the way Mycroft’s mouth twitched down in distaste briefly before his expression morphed into a false smile. 

“I must congratulate you on your observation skills, Colonel Moran, though if you wish to live I suggest you apply the same respect you learned in your military days. You are right. I don’t intend to kill you.” He paused, “unless you do not please me.”

Sebastian met the politicians steely gaze, unfazed by his implied threats. “You haven’t told me exactly what I’m cooperating to.”

The politician sighed. Sebastian hated the man so much that even that small noise agitated him hugely. “You have a spectacular amount of skill, Colonel. It’s a skill that the government could use.” He paused, calculating how to word his next sentence. “Your crimes against the law would be… Forgiven temporarily, whilst you were in my service.”

 _‘Forgiven temporarily’?_ Sebastian was suspicious of that, but already his mind was running in league with the instinct that wanted him to stay alive. If he was to believe Mycroft, his life was guaranteed to stay safe so long as he obeyed. Working for Holmes wouldn’t be easy though – it went against every ‘moral’ Sebastian had built up over years of working for Jim – but what choice did he have? He was exceptionally skilled, yes, but even so he wasn’t sure he could escape the Holmes brothers now that they had captured him. Not to mention how humiliating it would be to accept the offer, given the speech he just gave. But the work would be easy and thus would give him time to concoct a plan and find Jim. Sebastian would have his boss over his dignity any day.

Consumed in his thoughts, Sebastian had almost forgotten Mycroft’s presence. The politician cleared his throat and declared, “I will return in the morning. This door will be locked. You may request food on the phone.” He turned and left the room, not bothering to wait for an answer from his prisoner.  
  
Sebastian stared at the closed door for a long while before moving. His eyes darted around the room, giving it another once over, checking for any recording devices. He saw none in the ceilings or on the furniture, but these damn geniuses were sneaky. They would be stupid not to keep tabs on him.

Now that he was alone and without the piercing eye of Mycroft watching his every move, Sebastian explored the room he had been given. He ignored the bed. It looked comfortable, but it wouldn’t affect Sebastian if it weren’t. His army days had beaten that out of him. Instead, he went to the oak door opposite the one he came in through. As he suspected, it led to an en suite. He found it odd that they had supplied him with a toothbrush and toothpaste, and rather nice looking soaps and shampoos. Curiosity took hold of him and he went to smell one of the scented lotions, his upper lip curling when an overwhelming scent of cinnamon filled his nostrils. Living with Jim had accustomed him to soaps that smelled of nothing – the criminal mastermind preferred it that way. He didn’t want anything mingling with his ridiculously expensive cologne.  
  
Sebastian smiled at the thought then left the bathroom, now distracted by the bookshelf. One particularly old looking book caught his eye and he turned it over in his hands, feeling the smooth surface and running his fingers over the gold engraved letters of the title.  
  


-

When Mycroft returned, he found Sebastian reading the Holy Bible with a towel around his waist and damp hair. He was lounged on the bed, chewing on a toothpick, seeming engrossed in the leather bound scripture in his hands.

“What a sight to see.” Mycroft said, a sarcastic note in his voice.

“I’m playing a game.” Sebastian said, “I’m counting how many times I’ve sinned.” He never looked up from the book.

“Oh? And the result?”

“Well, so far I’ve bent the Ten Commandments over and fucked them on a desk. Multiple times.” He closed the book with a thud, sitting up and swinging his legs over edge of the bed to stand. “I’ve thought about your offer.” He said, pushing the Bible into Mycroft’s chest. The politician took it in his hands, not seeming pleased with the treatment, but not complaining either.

“And?”

“I accept your offer, on one condition.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “Which is?”

“Give me some soap that doesn’t smell like a rotting rats arse.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a LONG time since I've written fanfiction (I'm really sorry, university and family stuff happened!) This will become more regular as I now have much more time to focus on leisure writing as opposed to exams and essays and stuff. I apologise if my writing is a bit rusty - this story will hopefully be updated a few times a week, and writing will improve! Please leave constructive criticism, either in the comments or send it to my tumblr ultronerd.tumblr.com. Thank you my lovelies~

**Author's Note:**

> So I have returned to MorMor hell. Constructive criticism is welcome, as are kudos. This is a gift for someone I follow on tumblr (Mormortrash) who's angst fills my heart with pain. Thank you for reading!


End file.
